Mirage
by Ruby Silverstone
Summary: She had no name. She had no purpose but to live. That's what they wanted from her. Someone to manipulate, to control, someone who wasn't a 'someone' but a 'something.' But they miscalculated; misjudged. Because while she was fighting the beasts of their past experiments, something else found her in their synthetic hell. The Archangel has fallen...and the Reaper rises in her place.


Mirage

She had warned him.

The stench was nearly overpowering, permeating the air and forcing its way into her flaring nostrils like a sentient being. She breathed in deeply, partly to calm herself, and partly to remember just what monsters she shared this small, horribly confined space with. In half. The man was severed in the space between his lower spine, and where the long, bundle of nerve strands and bone met with his pelvis. Gore littered the area around the red-stained river, the crimson liquid flowing down its length in wispy, almost graceful strands. Blood sprayed a fine shower in the dirt, also, and transformed it into a burgundy colored mud. The only recognizable piece of the late military commander was his torso, laying haphazardly on the bank and held there by a young, fallen tree, preventing the current to take the meaty chunk downstream.

Her lip curled at the sight. His ribs had been broken open, ripped straight upward by the unmerciful jaws of the reptilian creature feasting upon his innards. His heart, lungs, liver and part of his intestines, she knew, were gone for good. Turning her storm grey eyes to the head, a grimace soon adorned her features. The Plungers never did like the crunchy parts. His skull was intact, possibly cracked but it mattered little, splattered with blood and his jaw hanging askew at one side. Blood still oozed from his parted lips, wide open from an ear-shattering screech of pain, eyes rolled into the back of his head, leaving only the whites to be seen, and his features contorted into one of terror.

The left arm was missing, having been ripped straight out of its socket by anther Plunger, eager to join the fray that was his mutilated body. His right was missing its forearm and his legs…she imagined that they were being digested somewhere.

Really, he hadn't stood a chance.

Turning from the gory sight, one she was morbidly accustomed to seeing, she refocused her piercing gaze to the rest of the Plungers, swimming menacingly in the river in front of her. Massive creatures really, thirty feet in length, slim, but meaty bodies that weighed several ton, ten feet of wide, paddle like tail that whipped effortlessly through the murky waters, propelling them forward. Heavily inset, poison green eyes laid on either side of a triangular head with a third directly in the center of its forehead. A long snout filled to the bursting point with two inch long, serrated teeth that snapped and thrashed at the slightest scent of food. Where the nose was, she had yet to find, but had already confirmed that they had a disturbingly accurate sense of smell. They had no hind legs to speak of, but two, meaty forearms bulging with muscle rested below their head, tipped with three dagger like claws that snagged into rock as easily as tilled dirt.

In color, they were sleek black, some yellowed on their bellies, others a speckled brown, but for the most part, their scales were plain, matt, black, refusing to reflect light even covered in water. She supposed that this would help them camouflage into the water easier. She also supposed that they were somehow related to crocodiles, seeing as how they resembled them, albeit a very twisted, and mutated one. She found that having three eyes was a bit too much of an advantage, but then though it was downright wrong when she discovered that they could all move separately.

Her only saving grace was that they couldn't hear jack shit. Things were nearly deaf, really, and only ever followed their nose. Taking another glance at the corpse of her latest traveling partner, she walked to the river of awaiting beasts. They scattered at her approach, snarling in disgust at her smell and appearance, deciding that she wouldn't be anything near tasty, let alone suited to their palettes. A small sigh escaped her lips, coming out as more of a puff of air than anything else, as she crossed the river, deftly leaping from one jutting stone, to a fallen tree, over a Plunger itself, and then onto the river bank.

Her mind drifted as she walked, leaving the thrashing of the irritated beasts behind her. That man…he had said his name was Jason…Jason Whitloor. He had said many other things at first as well. A title, his profession, even a social status all in one breath at their meeting. She had hardly cared really. The only thing that caught her attention was that he was a military commander, trained the Marine Corps, and was proficient in hand to hand combat. She expected him to last longer.

A frown marred her mouth as she thought back on the previous days. He was a grouchy man, short tempered and hot headed, wise, but not smart, arrogant, and refused to cooperate. When they had first met, he had tried to shoot her. No bullet met their mark, but he was quick to finish when he realized that she wasn't actually an animal, but rather a human, one like him. "Do you need help?" he had asked, taking the role of the protector like a fish to water. She had only blinked, looking at his hands. "Do you want to die?" was her response. A gun. Brilliant. Mine as well take a megaphone and holler at the top of his lungs that he was thick with fat, easy prey, and that it was about lunch time.

Looking back on it, she might've worded her response differently, to avoid his aggravation and apparent dislike for her being later on, but then brushed the thought away. He wouldn't have liked her either way. Apparently she wasn't _civil. _She audibly snorted, idly kicking a Scurry out of the way. It shrieked as her coarse foot connected with its overly furry body, sending it flying off in the other direction before its poisoned fangs could sink into her ankle. _Civil _implied that they were somewhere near _civilization. _Which was quite far from the truth.

The god-forsaken island was in some ocean. Atlantic, Pacific or any others she couldn't really tell. It all looked blue to her, and she wasn't too keen on going to the beach, either. She learned her lesson the last time she tried that, and nearly got herself turned inside out by a Burrower.

She swiped at a hanging plant leaf, her irritation rising. Idiotic man. She was only trying to keep him alive. He was a walking steak without her, and he still refused camouflage even after she had taken on the arduous task of explaining it to him in broken, unused sentences that she had barely uttered in years. He looked affronted, even disgusted, by the mere idea of such a thing. She knew then that he wasn't going to live, and urged him to cloak himself. "Hell no!" he shouted. "I am _not _going to slather myself in one of those creature's giant piles of monster _shit!_"

She thought he was an idiot. Although she couldn't blame his resistance. Diving headfirst into the first steaming, freshly made, pile of mutated monster droppings isn't exactly what every kid wished for on his birthday, but after living in this hell for as long as she did, she nearly rejoiced at seeing such sights. Nothing, and she meant _nothing, _would eat you if you convinced it that you were poop. And that meant, quite literally, bathing in it once a day.

Which leads in a full circle as to why the man had died in the first place. Her patience had grown thin, almost nonexistent, and she was frustrated. She didn't want him to die, she actually had hopes that this one was going to break the three month point that everyone else couldn't seem to get by. But he was going to meet his end if he didn't cloak himself, _stop _washing _daily, _and bury that infuriating weapon that had wrecked so much havoc on her that she was positive that it was a record for how many beasts would attack in a matter of hours. Obviously the only solution, since coaxing him wasn't going to work, was forcing him. So when the chance arrived, she shoved him head long into the first pile she saw and gave him kick to his rump for good measure.

Things hadn't gone well.

He had shouted and screamed, enraged, and flung his weapon around in a massive tantrum fitting of a bratty five year old. He even tried to strike her several times, all ending in failure as she casually dodged all of his sloppy attempts. It only made him angrier. Furious, he stormed off, muttering curses under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a foreign language, slamming plant life away from him in his rant. She had only blinked, watching his disappearing form from behind her mask and decided that she should let him cool off. Frustrated with his behavior, she set off to secure dinner. When she returned, however, it was not to a pretty sight.

He was bathing. In the river. _Idiot. _She hadn't even gotten a word, hadn't even been able to warn him of the danger before it happened. The last thing she saw of this Jason was his sneering visage as she emerged from the trees, obviously still angry with her, before a Plunger snatched him from the bank by his forearm, launched him into the air, and with a sickening crack, severed him into two, ending the horrifying scream. Other's joined the fray, two fighting over his lower half, another diving into his chest, and a fourth ripping off his other arm.

He had lasted fifty-six days.

Fifteen longer than the last one.

She had expected more from a soldier

A faraway cry caught her attention, freezing her in her tracks to better hear. Tilting her head to one side, turning her ear slightly to the sky, she breathed in the scent of decay around her. The Screecher had made its call, signaling the day's end and the night predator's reign over their small, shared, and torn territories. The night was always the most dangerous here. So dark, so black, and so easy to hide; nothing was safe. Breaking into a light jog, she decided that her third base of operations would be the most suitable for tonight.

When the sun sets, the closest shelter always won out.

She didn't remember much from her past life. It was blurry, nearly surreal, and almost always appeared to her in the state of dreams. She knew it was there, for sure, but living for the amount of time that she had in this place had slowly worn her memory down. All she could think of was the Screecher's cry, the ominous grate of the Howler, and the snapping jaws of the Scavangers. It seemed that every day she lived in this reality, the other became fiction.

She knew that she lived in a populated city, most likely L.A. or New York, she had parents, both still married, an older sister by four years and a younger brother by two, and she knew that they loved each other. She knew she was a student at one point, possibly a high achieving one if the medal hanging in the wall of her bedroom meant anything, pieced together by fragments of dissolving memories. She remembered that she used to sing, and many a time she had wanted to try, but didn't dare for fear of attracting predators. She remembered that she had a circle of nameless friends, faces that blurred together the more she tried to remember them.

She was in a program too, but she found no luck in discovering what. Little snippets would come to her sometimes. Oddball words of conversation, a scene out of something that meant something to her, an image of the world that she used to know. She knew that skyscrapers apparently had something to do with her past. Maybe she liked heights? The architecture? She didn't know. One connection that she did make from past to present was that she liked shiny stuff. Probably always will. The glint that would catch her eye was oddly comforting. It didn't matter where it came from or how much it was worth, if it looked the part, then it was considered valuable.

What infuriated her most about her failing memory, though, was that she could not remember her name. She's thought it through several times, and supposed that it was actually a reasonable and logical conclusion that she was able to forget something so important. If you think about it, how often do you say your own name aloud? The most you hear your own name is when someone else is calling it, which was rarely the case in her life now. And how often do you write it down? Would you have time, if you were fighting for your life to merely survive?

And survive she did. So slowly, ever so slowly, she had forgotten herself, lost her own identity to the beasts around her. And because she hated herself for forgetting, she diligently made a point to remember everything else. She kept track of time, more out of what she'd heard of and seen in movies than out of actual want. It was common knowledge that prisoners would carve a tick mark into the stone walls of their cells, counting the days they had been there. She now was glad that she had done such a thing. Time. How much was spent, how much was gained, how much was gone; it's all important when your slowly losing yourself to the more primal, and animal, side of yourself.

She kept track of the people that came here, how long they had lived, and how they had died. She kept track of the seasons, making a shoddy calendar in every one of her bases so she could judge for winter. And most importantly, she kept track of what she had killed. Perhaps it was because she was lonely, maybe bored, and sometimes, she thought it was because she was fearful, that she took the time to take a single bone, tooth, or feather from the creature that she had slain. Each of her five bases was decorated with a bone or other body part of her kill. She took pride in them, especially once she noticed that they began to grow in size. Skulls adorned the walls in her cavern-like homes, teeth had holes drilled into them and strung along a leather rope about her neck, and enormous claws, and teeth far too large to fit about her neck, were strung around her hips.

But the one that she favored the most, the one above all others, was not the largest, it wasn't the most difficult to kill, and it wasn't the most impressive, but her chest swelled with pride every time she put it on. It was the first of these beasts that she had ever killed. Terrified and shaky, she had attracted a pack of Sprinters, unimaginably fast creatures with narrow heads, forked tongues, and a triple row of razor teeth set upon a light, lime green body with long, narrow tails tipped in poisoned barbs.

To this day, she still wondered just how fast she managed to get up that tree. Sprinters were impossible to outrun, let alone get away from long enough to climb a tree high enough to call it safe. But she had nonetheless. Crying, dirty, and streaming blood from a slash across her abdomen from one of them, but safe for the small moment. She soon realized that she had practically run herself into a trap. There was no way to get down the tree without being severed, and if by some miracle she did, she would die instantly by their pursuit. She had no choice but to wait them out.

Three days.

Three days without food, without water, and without sleep, restless and scared, weak and dying, she prayed to whatever was out there that she would get through this alive. Someone must have heard her, someone out there must have cared, because as she was succumbing to the welcoming arms of death, the five Sprinters camping by her tree suddenly let out a grating screech, and took off into the trees. She couldn't believe her eyes when she saw the ground, clear of the creatures, and sobbed in relief.

It was when she began her decent that she realized her mistake. She remembered exactly how her scream sounded when those horrifying jaws clamped down on her ankle, and pulled her from the tree wall. She remembered the raw terror that coursed through her like a poison spreading through her system, paralyzing her in the face of her sudden death. But most of all, she remembered her anger. She had waited three days, _three, _just so that she could climb down a thick, mutated tree hungry, tired and thirsty only to have one kill her instead.

The fifth one, apparently, was much more wise then his brethren, waiting until she had come down under the pretense that she was safe. It dragged her around, ripping and tearing its way through the thin skin of her foot. And right then, she knew that if she didn't do _something, _then she was going to die.

She didn't know what came over, what sentient being had invaded her soul and gave her strength, but all the same, anger surged through her, burning like a fiery inferno in her veins, through her heart, and into her mind. For a moment, all she could see was red, and that was all it took. Screaming a cry of rage, she kicked the head from her ankle, and scrambled as best as she could to her feet, bloody and shaking. The creature had stumbled back, startled, but regained its ground with a biting hiss and a quick charge.

It left no time for her to recover, just like a true predator should, and that just made her furious. It leapt at her, hind legs tucked up, front bent and slightly outstretched, claws flexed and ready to penetrate her soft flesh, and jaws wide open, allowing for her to see its hundreds of teeth. She smelt it's acrid breath, saw its tongue whip back and forth, heard it's war cry, and imagined what would happen if she didn't avoid it. Fight or flight had engaged, and surprisingly, instead of running, her body told her that it was time to fight. She had no weapons, save a rock that she had picked up from her mad scramble to her feet, and facing that jaw of death, it made her realize just how unfair it truly was.

It was unfair that she was pitted against something so much stronger than she, unfair that all the others had died off and left her, unfair that she didn't know where she was, unfair that her family had died in that car crash, unfair that the men in white coats had drugged her, smiling down upon her failing body, and it was unfair that she had to face this alone.

A desperate cry tore out of her throat, cracking its way through her lips as she thrust her arm forward, fingers curled around the jagged stone, throwing her entire body, mind, and soul into what she knew was going to be her final act. The hit flew straight and true, right down the screeching throat of the creature's open jaws, and with a sickening crack, it was upon her. She struggled and thrashed beneath its body, writhing beneath its claws in her shoulders, and its heavy teeth sinking into her arms. She felt her warm, warm blood oozing out of its mouth and imagined that her hand was already gone.

And then she noticed, that warm—too warm—liquid was not her own. Her eyes widened, fascinated and awed at the brilliant, thick, royal blue blood that bathed her arm and pooled onto her stomach. It was a gel-like substance, and as her gaze wandered up, she met the glassy, dead gaze of the monster above her, deceased. She could hardly believe what her vision was telling her.

She had killed it.

Dazed, she shoved it off to her side, and with a sense of disbelieving awe, she pulled her arm free. It came with a sickly squelch, and covered in the blue of its blood; she grasped its own arms and dislodged them from her shoulders. Her breath was ragged as she stood to her feet, her heart thudding away in her chest like a fluttering bird inside its cage. What came over her next, she would never, ever know. Animalistic glee has surged through her being, and flexing every muscle in her body that she could, she let out an ear shattering roar. The nearby creatures fled from the brush, mutant birds took to the air, and the rocky mountains echoed back her triumphant, screeching cry.

Exhaling sharply, her stomach rumbled expectantly, and she felt her vision blur and her eyes shake. She was too hungry to find fruit, to find vegetation, to sneak her way around other predators, and there was _her _kill right in front of her. She barely had to think before she removed the pocket knife that was buried deep in her pocket and began to dig into the soft flesh of its neck, slicing and cutting at the muscles. She ate it raw, too hungry to think of anything else. Her gag reflex protested, and she choked and groaned as again and again she forced the meat, still dripping with its thick blood down her throat. It was only when she had eaten her fill, did she realize that while she had killed this one, there were other, more fearsome creatures out in the night.

Once again scared, she took to the tree she was once in, limping and struggling to climb as she scaled its thick branches. Licking the blood from her arms, fingers, hands and lips in thirst, she eventually settled down into a restless sleep, nightmares of the creature she had killed, and a scream that she knew was her own playing across her mind. It was then, she supposed, that she first forgot her name, marking the start to her failing memory. It was then that the starter pistol had fired, beginning the race of the loss of her mind. She had lost a bit of her humanity that day, a small portion of her soul, and she knew that she'd never see that side, ever the innocent facet of her soul, again.

As she revisited the memory, she padded thoughtfully through the jungle around her, silent and stealthy. She remembered that when she awoke in the morning, it was to an unusual sight. One, her wounds were nearly fully healed, and two, nothing remained of the creature below but its bones, picked clean by the scavengers. She would later find that the Sprinters, as she had dubbed them, were creatures that ate both other animals and the plant life around them, resulting in every part of their body to be rich with nutrients.

She took the skull.

It remains a part of her outfit to this day, the top half of the skull resting over her face to make a mask of terrifying bone. The bottom half of the jaw she found useless, and left it to hang upon her walls at home, where she was headed now. A mirthless laugh escaped her. Her home, she supposed was more of a personalized base than anything else. She had five all together, each strategically placed into separate territories that correlated with the changing of the seasons.

She scowled as her train of thought reminded her of a specifically unpleasant occurrence. Summer was nearly upon the island, the hottest portion of the year where the sun blazed harshly down upon the ground below. She _hated _the summer. The island worked like clockwork, each season given an appropriate time for different activities. Autumn was the season of the hunt, the creatures spiraling into chaos as they mercilessly took down prey after prey in order to prepare for winter. For this reason, the first base was located in a network of caves with tight spiraling caverns that would protect from the reaching claws of many creatures.

When the snow fell, it was the season of caution. Only the monsters who lived below the ground would be brave enough to encounter the snow in order to find prey. Ice covered the ground and vegetation receded, many creatures retreating towards the volcano at the far end of the island for warmth and food. For this, she set up a base a good distance away from the active volcano, and in the tallest tree she could find, far, far away from the frost covered ground, eating her winter supply and snuggling into the furs of past kills for warmth.

Spring was the season of storm. Tropical rains ravaged the small island, monsoons, massive crashing waves, and other natural disasters that practically flood the island and drown it in water. For this wretched season, she built another base in yet another tree. But it wasn't so far up like the one in the winter. The tree she chose was thicker, more stout, with branches that fanned out rather than up and that tangled with other's of its kind, creating a network of intertwining limbs. She had made a bunker of sorts, nestling within the many, thick limbs that nearly made up a wall of its own, impervious the harsh rains and howling winds that bombarded it nightly.

But summer…summer was the worst of all. Summer was the season of noise. It seemed that every mutant animal that was here seemed to take a surprising amount of time to give birth. They breed during the winter and spring, where all the animals are constantly in close contact with each other. The creatures are pregnant for almost a full year before, in the summer, they retreat to tend to their newly born young. Oddly enough, most of the creatures here are fiercely protective of their children, snapping, growling, and howling at any sort of predator coming anywhere _near _their offspring. The air was constantly rent with sounds of challenge and protection. The birds squawked and chirped at every hour of the day, the beasts roared, the river dwellers thrashed, and the monsters below the ground writhed and burrowed deeper, creating pits of quick sand in their wake. It was unbearably hot, the humidity nearly choking in its intensity; so thick, so heavy—she could nearly _taste _it.

Sweat poured off her body in rivers, sticking her clothing to her like a second skin. She became itchy, fidgeting this way and that to scratch at something only to have another itch pop up somewhere. Her camouflage would crumble, and she would have to set out to find new ones over and over again. Never, in any other season, was she tempted more to take a bath. She was gross, she knew. Covered in animal dung, sweat, urine, even puke if she was lucky, but it was during the summer that she actually _felt _gross. Her hair was sticky and clung to her scalp through the layers of grime and her mouth became dry and slimy at the same time.

The experience was _always _unpleasant. She couldn't throw herself into the freezing caves to escape the heat because fierce, massive creatures had already done so and she didn't have a death wish. Hunting was nearly impossible. Everything was on such a severe lookout that even one wrong move could send an entire heard of beasts after you. The only reason she managed to eat at all was because she would set traps that the mutants would, unwittingly, step into and meet their deaths.

The only upside to the situation was that she could freely roam without having to worry about something jumping out at her. Everything was so focused on protecting their young that she was quite literally free to do as she wished. She could dance, yell, scream, yodel for all she was worth and nothing would come after her. She could leave her base undefended and left alone for days without the fear of it being invaded taking over her senses. And she could read. The thought lightened her darkened mood a bit.

Reading had been her connection to the life she came from. Any book at all, she would find, read, reread, and read again over and over and she never got tired of it. She would keep her own journal as well, marking her progress as an individual—it helped her stay sane. Reading and writing grounded her to the world of reality, preventing her from going off the deep end and becoming an animal herself. Anything to busy her hands did, really. Her summer home was covered with maps, paintings, carvings, literature, notes, and other things. It was her medicine home. A place where she could finally stop being an animal and become human again, if only for a short while. Most of it was stirred by boredom, but truly, she felt somewhat relieved to see it standing when the time came to migrate there.

Inhaling deeply, she let her senses overtake her. The air was becoming thicker, she could taste it. The temperature would spike soon, signaling the end of the storm season and the beginning of a new one. An estimate of two weeks before the dreary clouds would clear from the sky and the sun would take its throne once again.

* * *

Oh, she hated it. Summer sucked. Horror of horrors and house of hell she hated it. The island was _burning. _It was _too hot _for anything remotely close to what she should be doing, or what she wanted to do. She feared that if she moved a single inch, her body would produce even more heat to supply the movement and make her even hotter. She itched, oh she itched and every time she would move to scratch it another would pop up somewhere else.

Sweat was pooling between her breasts, shoulder blades, in her armpits and at her lower back. The stench of her most recent camouflage rent the air as she attempted to dry it in the baking summer heat. It crackled and flaked, causing an even worse itch to break out along her arms and legs. It was days like these that she really just felt like killing something for the fun of it. She resisted the urge to lick her lips, knowing that they would just become more cracked and that the water, at that moment, was boiling. She could be patient, she knew she could.

The sounds of the jungle filled her ears as she listened to the oddball monsters that she shared this lone island with. Calls of the birds, roars of a far off fight, the incessant buzzing of the oversized insects filled her ears as she drank it in. As much as she hated it, it was most definitely the sound of her home. She opened her eyes, lazily taking in her surroundings. Plants of the richest green surrounded her, shielding the sun from her eyes with their wide, fan like leaves. She was lying on the ground, trying to cool herself off in the dirt as she allowed the dung clinging to her body dry. Trees towered above her in an overgrown heap, the sun filtering through the spaces and scattering across the ground like lasers.

Most of her clothing lay beside her, not that it was much to begin with. After only a few weeks of living here, she realized that her clothing was simply not going to make it. It tore and ripped at the slightest of points, restrained movement, and just made life uncomfortable. Most of it had been shredded into bandages anyway, and she found them to dirty horribly easily. It was a daunting thought, to know that out of all the things, your clothes were going to be gone first. It wasn't long before she sought tougher material, and as she became more skilled in the art of the hunt, her wardrobe changed drastically.

When she first came here, she was in the clothing that she had been taken in. She had just been released from the hospital, mourning her family's death and back in clothing that made her look like a part of society when they took her. Two men jumped her in the parking lot, concealing themselves in the shadows of the night. She was knocked out quickly, and when she opened her eyes a second time, it was to see white. That and a few men in lab coats, smiling down upon her body like one would smile upon something that cared nothing for, but should appear so anyway.

She hadn't remembered much from that day, only a voice saying something that she could not discern. It mattered little to her now. She laughed slightly, remembering her attire that she had once been so accustomed to wearing. For the top, she had worn a tight, black undershirt with lace around the bust that ran down her torso and disappeared under the belt of her pants. Over that, she had worn a semi-transparent, thin, pink shirt that flowed with the slightest bit of wind and was also sleeveless. Her pants were faded blue skinny jeans with a black, metal studded belt to hold them up—she remembered feeling the bulge of her cell phone in one of its pockets. The most amusing part of her little outfit, though, was her shoes. Of all the things to wear when she came bumbling into this hell they had to be heels. Black, shiny, ankle boots with a two inch heel that completed the outfit along with her various accessories.

Yes, she laughed. Things had drastically changed.

Now, she wore no shirt. Her bra was constricting and forsaken in favor of a homemade garment. She had killed a massive snake whose hide was thick and strong, yet bendable and easy to work with. After skinning it, she had taken to cutting the skin into long strips about an inch in width. When she had seven of these strips, she began to braid them together. The task was long, tedious, and more than frustrating, but most definitely worth. A weaved snake skin band was her end product, and after taking another skin, this one from a furry rodent, she sowed the two skins together, one side the black of the snake skin, and the other the soft, brown fur of a rodent. She bound her breasts with this, the fur pressing up against her skin, and done up in the back corset style.

Her pants were a bit more difficult, but she found an eventual solution. Pants themselves were truly out of the question. They restricted far too much movement for her tastes, and made it difficult to run. Her only solution was to go caveman style or commando. She gladly chose caveman. The loin cloth that she had created was not of the snake skin, or the rodent, but rather of something else entirely. Many insects roamed this island, and spiders were not excluded. Well, at least they looked like spiders to her. They were black, maybe a few brown with white speckles, eight legs, massive mandibles, and a total count of twenty-two, red eyes on the very center of its head. And they were big, as in, as big as a small car.

The silk that they spun was quite different from a regular spiders though. For one, they were far from sticky, the strands felt like thread rather than glue, and two, they spun it from their jaws rather than from their butts. It took a while, but she learned how to weave it into actual fabric. Surprising still, she had tested this mutant spider thread, and found it to be about as soft as silk, and stronger than steel. She wouldn't be able to tell you how many times she had tried to cut through a bundle of strands and failed miserably in doing so. It easily took to color as well, and after soaking it in the ink of a squid she found in a nearby lagoon, the garment was permanently dyed black.

Sighing, she wondered how she ever even managed to be comfortable in so many layers of clothing. It was much more suitable to hunt in something you could run full tilt sprint in than something that limited your strides. The rest of her clothing was a combination of the bone mask, and the feathery hide of a Screecher that acted as a cape of sorts that she had sowed strings to, allowing her to tie it in front of her chest. It flowed down her back in blue-black feathers tipped in dark green and ended by her ankles, though the color was impossible to see through the grime. She had separated the hide into three sections, the middle being much larger than the sides, so that to furry sections could flow in front of her shoulders and over her chest while the rest went down her back, leaving a slit for her shoulders to move freely.

She studied the hide that lay faithfully at her side, scrutinizing the state that it had fallen into. When she had killed the Screecher, the feathers had been so very healthy, glossy, and shined in the light. It was…pretty to her, and she was struck by just how much she wanted it. The feeling led her to tangle with the massive bird for over an hour, each opponent gaining several scars, slashes, and bite marks for their trouble. She won in the end, celebrating by eating the creature and storing the rest of its meat in her reserves at the nearest base.

A puff of air escaped her lips as she uselessly mouthed the words to something that she didn't quite know, yet seemed to understand through sheer muscle memory as she remembered the day. With a grunt she set to getting as comfortable as she possibly could with the scorching heat pressing in on all sides, preparing herself for a slight doze, allowing her mind to drift into the throes of endless abandon.

The scream that rent the air had on her feet so fast that if one had blinked, they would have missed the motion entirely. Adrenaline thrummed through her veins as she settled herself into a crouch, arms out, hands positioned to strike. She locked her jaw, eyes flitting about sporadically as calm, measured breathes were taken carefully through her nose. That scent…the scent of death. The hair rose on the back of her neck, and despite the heat, a chill coursed through her.

Something was wrong.

Another cry erupted, this one louder than the first, and she whipped her head to the right. That had been a Howler. But why? The Howlers couldn't stand this heat, couldn't survive in it. They sought refuge in the freezing underground taverns during this time of year. Why would one be on the surface, let alone so far from the caves themselves? She narrowed her eyes in the direction that the cry had come from, listening, waiting. She was rewarded when a third cry sounded, and like the hounds of hell were after her, she grabbed her mask, and the sharpened bone she used as a short sword and sprinted off in the direction of the Howler, intent of discovering what had caused the cry, and more importantly, what had driven it from the caves.

Setting off at a dead sprint, she leap over the foliage, clearing dead logs, fallen roots, and other vegetation, keeping her breath steady and her feet light. She had just slipped the mask over her face, letting the feathery hide billow behind her when another outcry sounded. Her steps faltered, and then stopped dead. The roar continued, long, billowing, and _loud. _It was a roar that shook the very leaves of the trees around her, deep and guttural it demanded attention as it ricocheted off trees and stone, echoing off the canyon pass and startling birds into flight. Hair rose up on her arms and neck, her body tensing as the sound continued, long and hard. This was no dying cry of some monstrous creature; this was the bellow of a triumphant beast.

When it finally subsided, when whatever beast had finally run out of air to fuel the massive explosion, she let out a quaking breath. Her exhale was uncomfortably loud in the following silence, and she didn't dare make another. Awe rocked her mind, as the sheer possibilities of just _what _that could be overwhelmed her. It wasn't a Screecher for its tone was far too deep, and it couldn't have been a Burrower for their clamor was more grating, like nails sliding against chalkboard only a few octaves lower. For a moment she thought it might be a Thumper, but if that were the case, she would've heard the thundering footsteps that gave them their namesakes. Dread began to well in the pit of her stomach, anxiety piling up and drowning her in a sea of apprehension. Whatever it was, it had killed a Howler, and was probably feasting upon it this very moment.

Without another thought, she took off again, this time from the trees, leaping from one to another in quick, efficient, bounds that carried her over the blurring ground. She traveled like a ghost, flitting in between trees and bushes, barely touching them before moving on to the next, the fear of the unknown urging her footsteps faster. It wasn't long until she came across what she was looking for, and her heart leapt to her throat in response.

Carnage.

The Howler was a massive creature with a leviathan, snake like body about forty feet in length and weighing a good twenty ton. Bulging balloons of muscle formed its limbs, each one positioned near its belly so that they would protrude at a sharp angle upward, before bending and diving down toward the ground where a massive, six fingered hand pawed at the ground, tipped with seven inch claws. The tail of the creature dragged across the ground, bare of everything but the pale, silver blue scales that covered the rest of its body. Its head was even more terrifying. Resting atop a cylinder of muscle and a throat capable of swallowing a salt-water crocodile whole was a massive, thick skull surrounded by another generous layer of thick muscle before covering it in skin so hard that it could be used as bulletproof armor. Its jaws reached outwards and stretched to form a bulbous shape before funneling slightly and abruptly ending in a rough narrowing quadrilateral. The teeth were long, sharp and bacteria filled so that anything it bit would soon die of a massive spread infection from the contact point. Spines attached to the front of the head, spiking out and up down the length of its spine before gradually disappearing the nearer it got to the end of its tale.

And its roar. Simply…_terrifying. _So guttural, so loud, and if you stood anywhere near it, you were sure to feel it vibrating in your chest. That intimidating warning that was housed inside such a fearsome head; bone chilling. But what made her stare, what made her look on in stupefied horror, was that that ridiculous head, that skull, was _gone. _

The corpse was hit three times. Three different places, three different roars. The first she assumed was its tail. About three quarters a way between the base of the tail and the tip their lodged a spear. After a quick glance about her to make certain of the perimeter, she edged closer, moving her mask to rest atop her head for a better view. The spear was intricate, full of sharp angles and curving lines. Silver markings were etched onto the metal of the spear, appearing to be some kind of language, but only seemed to be jumbled lines to her vision. She followed it from the very tip, where the midday sun was reflecting off of its point and slowly allowed her eyes to travel downward. Line after intricate line came into her sight, and, curiously enough, a string of some sort sporting small skulls and what appeared to be beads. And then she saw the puncture point. Ominous black blood oozed from the wound, trickling around the indention the spear had made and then over the side of the tail, pinning it to the stone beneath.

The amount of force needed to send something into a rock is unimaginable. Sending it through _armored skin _and _then _through the boulder, successfully pinning the Howler in place had to be impossible. She stumbled back a ways, becoming light headed as the dread returned, only ten times its previous force. Shaking, she made her way up the corpse's body, examining it for further injury. She found another, a hole off to one side of its body. She gently prodded the wound, black raining from the hole, steam coming from its edges as if it had been burned. The heart, she realized, would be in that direct path from the angle at which the wound was made. What caused it, she didn't know. She might guess something akin to a human missile, but that seemed to be a bit of a stretch in comparison with the other facts.

And then the third, and final cry. She nearly choked on her own spit in fear, for the only other wound on the creature would be that of the head. Cautiously, she edged toward the neck, where the head was brutally severed. It looked…decimated. As if the attacker had repeatedly hacked away at the skin, muscle, and bone before finally claiming victory at its kill. The fourth cry, she realized. It was because whatever had slaughtered this beast was yelling its victory to the skies. And the head was nowhere to be seen. The only other evidence of the fight was an odd splatter of blood on the ground. But it wasn't black. Instead, it was a florescent green.

She knelt down by it, dipping her fingers into it and testing the consistency. It had already started to separate, chunking together in, wet, slimy globs. Not too far off, was another splatter, slightly smaller than the first. Her eyes lifted as she followed splatter after splatter in a trail that led towards the tree line. Alongside the splatters, underbrush had been crushed, as if something massive had been dragged across it. Shock overwhelmed her. It…had taken the head. _Dragged _the damn _head _across the clearing and to the trees.

She looked down to the blood splatters again. So it had been wounded. If the Howler had bitten it, then the creature would be dead within a few days, depending on its size and immune system, and she could rest at peace. But she wasn't at peace. The blood splatters were far too small, too close together, and too suspicious to have been logical. The beast should've been huge, nearly matching the size of the Howler in order to drag the head across the ground. But as she stood and began to slowly walk along the trail, her trained eyes spotted tracks. Tracks that made her throat go dry. It was impossible. It had to be some trick of the light. The tracks matched the blood perfectly, but nothing, _nothing _that small could drag something so large.

It was a biped. Possibly close to her own size by the size of its feet, and heavy. She turned her eyes back to the corpse, her eyes finding the still sizzling holes in the beast's chest, and then going further to land upon the intricately designed spear. Then followed the trail of blood again to the trees, all the while her mind began to connect the dots. Awe came over her as she looked at the darkened tree line again. _No way… _she thought. And then something else occurred to her.

The jungle, so full of life and so full of death, in the middle of summer, the season of noise, was deathly still.

* * *

Tul-duh had never imagined that this situation would ever, under any circumstance, happen to her. She was an Honored Warrior, nearing the title of Elite. She had completed her Chiva with flying colors, impressing her peers, fellow warriors, and her superiors. She'd bred many pups, allowed many Honored males the privilege to bed her, and it was rumored that any pup raised by her would be a warrior of immense strength.

But strength wasn't the only thing that she'd been able to brag about. She was well known for her wit, her knowledge, and her keen eye in battle. She could win when it seemed hopeless, turn the tables on the enemy when the odds seemed the worst, and slay hundreds of _kaide amheda—_the hard meats—without breaking sweat. Her trophy room was adorned with beasts of massive sizes, of course. The alien queen with her spiked crown was the center of attention in the monstrous chamber. But Tul-duh was also infamous for another reason. She loved the thrill of battle, so much that she sought it out whenever she could, but more than anything, she loved to hunt intelligent prey.

There was something decidedly deadly about it, she supposed. While she was so much larger, smarter, and better trained than any prey she'd ever encountered, it was when these intelligent beasts strove for survival that they became monstrously strong. Humans were one example. Her kind called them the _pyode amheda—_the soft meat—and ridiculed them in contemptuous jeers. They called them weak, small, soft, and unworthy prey. Most of her kind believed them to be stupid, many not even known that the odd sounds they produced from their strange mouths was an actual language.

They knew nothing. Tul'duh had dedicated years—_years—_to the study of humans. Their culture, their language, their very existence upon their world enticed her. They _were _intelligent. And to hunt, it was simply a matter of choosing the right prey. She would stalk for days, meticulously searching and weeding out the ones she knew would not give her the thrill she was searching for. It was difficult, and many a time she was surprised to find that they contradicted themselves at every turn. She would assume one to be meek, mild, and soft tempered, only to find it only took a small jab in a specific area to unleash a volcano of enormous eruption in response.

She had not mastered this technique, and she knew that she probably never truly would. It was a specific talent of the humans, to silence their conscious in order to provide personal gain. She was too honorable for that. She knew her society was harsh—no yautja could survive unless he or she was a noteworthy hunter—but something about the humans was simply poisonous. They were brutal in a different way, a way of the mind, which would drive any of her kind, including herself, to madness. It was so much easier to simply issue a physical challenge, but for the humans, it was the challenge in the mental prowess of the person. Every attack had to be carefully planned, mapped and executed in such a dishonorable and sneaky way that one must wonder at the complexity of these beings.

Their culture would give no clues. While the yautja had their separate clans, and perhaps a few separate ways, they all fallowed a code of law that dictated their existence. But for the creatures inhabiting the Blue Planet, there were too many to count. Every which way something was different. Different people, differing upbringings, different codes of laws, societies, languages, traditions—the diversity made one's head spin.

Perhaps, Tul'duh thought, that was why the humans were so incredibly difficult to characterize into a specific genre. They were too diverse to name as any one thing. The only name that fit was the one that they gave themselves. Human. And to Tul'duh, they had named poorly. Bitterly, she thought that they should have named their own species after some sort of ridiculous paradox. It would have suited them better.

But either way, the complexity of the odd creatures _did _entice her on some level. Did she respect them? To an extent, she supposed, and under specific circumstances. Did she hate them? No, not especially. They were simply a part of her culture; a hunt in which the prey are substantially more entertaining. As far as her studies went, it was more of a guilty pleasure than anything else. Though she did not hide the fact, not many of her fellow warriors knew, let alone understood, why she examined the humans so much.

She was a respected yautja, envied even, and admired. She held herself to a high standard, accomplished many things and had the skulls to prove it, and was working her way through the ranks. Few and far in between were the females that would challenge her, for anything, that she saw as hers. Some even feared her.

So it seemed rather preposterous that she found herself in her current situation. She wouldn't have thought even remotely possible for her to make such an amateurish mistake. Releasing a frustrated huff, Tul'duh focused on holding very, very still.

The island she was on was a strange one. Full of misshapen monsters and other odd creations, she had to wonder if she truly was on the Blue Planet. She was certain that these creatures were not of this world, yet she was also certain that they couldn't have come from another world. Intergalactic law dictated that any species were prohibited from inhabiting a planet whose own species were still developing. Humans were definitely still developing. _Nothing_ could live on this world until they mastered space travel and became aware of other intelligent species. Excluding the hunting as well as other extraterrestrial activities, of course.

But neither of those things explained their presence. Tul'duh had piloted her hunting ship to this island in preparation to go to the more inhabited places of this world, using it as a pit stop to take stock of weapons and supplies. It was then that she spotted it. It was a small creature, about a foot in height, a rather stout body, and…furry. She had to remove her mask to take a better look at it, yet found herself befuddled at to what it was. It was nothing like she had encountered on the Blue Planet before. At first she assumed that it might be what the humans called a _ka't, _but then realized that no such creature inhabited a place like this. The island was thick with wide trees, large green leaves and vines. It was a jungle of interwoven greenery; so thick that she could barely seen past the first few meters of it. Looking back down to the furry, fat and unidentified creature, she was mildly surprised that it was hurtling towards her.

Slightly taken aback at the bold little creature, she reared back and shot her leg forward, kicking it up and away. It soared through the air with an annoying screech, and landed in brush some feet away. Tul'duh could only blink. Just what was _that? _Now sufficiently confused and a little more than suspicious, she set out to investigate this strange island.

Tul'duh smiled when she thought about the thing that she discovered next. Such a massive beast, such large fangs. It wasn't very fast, but it was powerful. She watched it snap a tree in half with one powerful crunch of its mammoth jaws. She thought that it would make a fine addition to her collection. Forgetting entirely why she had set out in the first place, she let out a low growl of challenge and charged the answering beast. Its howl was deafening. And not once, but three times did she endure that ground shaking roar of pain and anger. It shook her bones and sent a thrill through her veins, urging her forward for the kill.

Hacking away at the neck while the beast still roared gave her such an overwhelming sense of victory. When the head finally fell away, dead, she let out a loud sigh, relishing in the feeling of triumph. Then she took a deep breath, and let out such a booming, loud roar that it silenced the jungle she was in. Huffing in exertion, her attention was drawn to a small splattering sound. Looking down she found that her right thigh was bleeding. Scowling she turned her attention to the teeth of her latest kill. The florescent green was evident in its mouth. Tul'duh let out an irritated huff. She hadn't even felt the bite.

Deciding that it was probably best to get the head back to her ship, she took from her uninjured thigh belt a tether. The small, sliver cylinder was held firmly in her hand, a spike at one end, and an electronic device at its head. Turning to the head, she slammed the device as hard as she could into the flesh. There was a crunch of bone and the sickening squelch of muscle as the tether took hold beneath its skull. A few more beeps and a green light later and the skull was being dragged across the small glade by the electro-magnetic technology of her kind. She hobbled after it, annoyed that the wound was impairing her ability to walk as much as it was. Not only that, but she felt much more tired than she had a minute ago. Did she exert herself more than she originally thought? Her face scrunched in confusion behind her mask, she didn't think so. Yet as she walked alongside the tethered head, she began to grow weary, tired, and overly exhausted.

Tul'duh was shocked. It was like her body was just shutting down, and yet she could not pinpoint the direct cause of such phenomenon. Stunned, she looked to her wound, coming to a stop as her trophy was dragged through the trees toward her ship. It was swelling grossly, the color of her blood turning into a sicker, darker shade than what was natural. Were those fangs poisoned? She cursed herself relentlessly in her mind. To make such a mistake of underestimating her prey—it was something only the earliest of Youngbloods would do. Irritated, she began to head to her ship, intent on finding her medical supplies and treating this. However, it didn't seem like that was going to be the case.

She was shocked, absolutely dumfounded to find that her injured leg was now completely immobile. Several attempted movements nearly gave her a warm welcome to the lush ground beneath her. Horrified she began to limp, awkwardly hopping on a single leg while she grasped at foliage. She growled in frustration as a painful constriction alerted her that whatever toxin inhabiting that creature had reached her heart, and then began to rapidly spread throughout the rest of her body. Panting, she watched, almost transfixed in dazed comprehension, as her vision blurred.

She made a final sprint for her medical supplies before her steps faltered, stumbled, and landed her flat on her back. She had only been tempted to vomit twice in the entirety of her life. Both times, she held it down. The first when she was on her first hunting trip and, due to certain situations at the time, was forced to eat some unnamed creature of awful tastes. Only pride had saved her on that occasion. The second was when she was learning to swim, seeing as her kind were not naturally equipped for such a maneuver, and her trainer had ruthlessly thrown her into a pool with artificial waves. The incessant rocking had made her stomach turn. Competition had saved her then.

But as the dizziness surged over her, blurring her vision, and spinning the foreign canopy above her, she was sorely tempted to do so now. The only thing that stopped her was the thought that if she died here, then she didn't want her fellow warriors to find her corpse covered in her own lunch. She sorely hoped such measures were unnecessary. Hopefully, her body would be able to fight off the toxins, provided that Paya was in her favor, and other beasts found her either unappealing or didn't notice her at all.

As a last ditch effort to save herself, she fumbled with her numerous pouches for a moment before extracting a syringe full of bright orange liquid. It was an anti-toxin, designed for emergencies only in the case of poisonings. She was unaware of the effect it would have in reaction to whatever was in her now, but she supposed it was better than nothing. Positioning it directly over her heart, she thrust downwards forcefully, piercing her thick skin and injecting the liquid directly into her beating heart. She coughed a little, spitting out blood onto the inside of her mask and suffocating as it nearly choked her. On the edge of passing out, she did the only thing that she could to ensure her safety.

With the last of her dwindling strength, she lifted the control panel fastened her arm, and activated her cloaking device. The lightning like strands traveled over her body, electric shocks filling her ears as the energy cackled around her before subsiding. The jungle was still silent around her, and as her eyes began to close, her muscles constricting and electing spasms to rock her frame, she prayed that she could open her eyes a second time.

* * *

Fear, she realized, was something that she hadn't felt in a long while. It was an odd emotion to her, useless because it only impaired your motor functions, denying your mind and body the ability to properly carry out orders. Stupid because shaking like a leaf never helped in the face of danger, if anything, it only made it more difficult to escape. Useful, because it told you to stay away from that danger in the first place, not that she ever really did, but that was another matter. But overall, fear was overrated, underestimated, and horribly unpredictable.

And of all the things to fear now, after all she had been through; it was the cliché fear of the blatant unknown. It was of the shadows that hid whatever her imagination had conjured up with. Something, anything, to create a body to fit that roar, and it was scaring her. She had often heard that animals can smell your fear. Whether or not animals actually could, she had yet to test. However the monsters here most definitely could, so it was in her best interest to nullify her fear. There was no cure for fear, no solution, no panacea that whisked it away like a leaf in the breeze. Fear was always there, whether it was an incessant and merciless drum sounding loud in your ears, or the soft, subtle, hum that waited patiently beneath your walking feet, it was always there. A silent companion, a shadow, and a shiver of cool wind against your mind. The only thing that could brighten that dark, dark, place was reassurance.

And reassurance, she had learned, never came without a gamble. When you danced with the monsters of your imagination, you ran the risk of finding something much worse than what you mind came up with. Your unprepared for the unknown, over prepared for what you already know, and confused as the line between the two begin to blur. But it was the only way. The only way to assess the new player on the field was to look directly at it. And looking at it, well, meant hunting for it first.

Her hand tightened painfully on the spear in her hand, the wooden structure creaking and groaning under her grip. Swallowing thickly behind her war mask, she took the first step forward, staring dead on into the darkening trees. The sun was setting now, and though it was stupid, she would rather brave a night out here, then spend it in her hut while that…_thing _roamed another day away, or possibly closer, to her. After her initial observation of the tracks, she had darted back to her base to restock on her weapons. Anything light, sharp, and long. She even grabbed her whip in case long range attacks were needed. A small, animal skin pouch lay faithfully at her hip, full of medical supplies should she get too seriously injured. A fresh coat of feces covered her head to toe, and the Screecher's pelt was wrapped around her for warmth and the ever welcome cover of shadow.

Knives and other assortments of bone daggers and needles surrounded her hip and slung across her body like a machine gun belt. Larger, more ferocious weapons were strapped to her thighs, machetes and short swords alike. Her torso was covered with the armored plating of the Bunkers—massive creatures with armor like skin—as well as her shins, back, and a strip of it to protect her privates. A rubbery like skin that she had gotten off of some water-dwelling amphibian that she had yet to name surrounded her neck, protecting it from possible strikes. It wasn't as thick as the armor, but it would serve its purpose for tonight. Her skull helmet was cracked but ever strong and protected her face from harm. A shield made from a massive scale of something resembling a dinosaur was threaded around her arm for defense.

A sharp breath escaped her as she peered into the looming shadows of the tree line, the corpse of the Howler behind her. Adrenaline was already pumping through her veins, preparing her for a flighty escape should the need be. She never liked being out at night. Not when other creatures at the advantage over her. She could see fairly well in the dark, but not as well as they could. And she didn't know how well she would fair against the creature in the woods either. Hopefully, it was already dead from the Howler bite. Not many things got far after the bacteria entered their system. She couldn't imagine that it had gotten far. Still trepidation filled her, and as she turned her face to the heavens, she prayed with all her might that none of her weapons would have to be used, and that the creature was already decaying on the forest floor.

Her footsteps were not heard as she bounded from rock to rock, over dead and fallen trees, leaping from branch to branch in quick, efficient jumps. Scarce were the sounds that she made, the only constant being the soft, small pants of air as she raced with inhuman speed to her destination. Her senses were heightened, looking, listening, smelling for anything that might warn of danger. She let her instincts take over, another part of her mind guiding her away from one particular branch, or that certain puddle of water. It told her when to travel in the trees, when to travel in the ground, what spots to avoid, what was safe, and what was in a grey area. She never questioned her instincts, never even gave it a thought besides consent. She never knew what she was avoiding, but she'd much rather be safe than sorry.

She pumped her arms, raised her legs flipped and turned in the air as she wove herself through the greenery. She used her spear as a leaping point as well, jumping and planting it deftly into the ground before swinging upwards and out with her body, the momentum bringing the spear with her as she sailed through the air. Here, she was only a shadow amongst shadows, blending, bleeding, melting.

She stopped for a moment, perched upon a thick tree, leaning to get a better look at what she was seeing. More tracks. The creature was most definitely biped, and large as well. Its strides were enormous, and she imagined that whatever it was, from its point of view it hadn't gotten far at all, but for her, it was quite a ways away from its kill. She continued silently, taking in the tracks as she went, this time at a slower pace, more careful of her movements. It was injured in its leg, it seemed. She jumped down from the rock that she was currently one to kneel at its footsteps. There was a distinct footprint, but it looked smudged and distorted. Limping, she realized. Her eyes traveled upwards, following its haphazard path. This was where the bacteria began to take hold.

She walked carefully, silently, taking in track after track. Limping, dragging, a heavy stumble. She paused at a tree, the bark having been torn off of it part way as the tracks became more heavy in the dirt, representing more weight. Had it…been _hopping? _She looked to tree again, tracing the mark with her hands as she rested upon a lower limb to reach it. This was where it used its hand to stabilize itself. She looked to the ground again, pondering. This creature was tall, and—at this her mind _throbbed—_possibly humanoid. Blinking, she allowed no further contemplation as she bounded off again.

She was surprised to suddenly find tracks with two feet again. They were far apart from each other, heavily set into the dirt, and wide. It had sprinted. She nearly gaped. For a creature to have enough strength to sprint after being bitten…_incredible. _Whatever it was, it was a fighter. And a strong one at that. Another thing she noticed was that the tracks seemed to be in a rather straight line. Most creatures would have broken off their trail, but this one seemed to be headed somewhere specific.

Her hackles rose at the thought, and hesitated for a moment. Part of her wanted to turn back now, unwilling to discover further. But another part, the louder part, told her that whatever this thing was, she shouldn't leave now. She got the distinct feeling that if she turned around now, then she would miss something. What that something was, was anybody's guess, but she felt it nonetheless. So taking a breath inwards, she foraged on.

The sprinting tracks continued on for a while, her face glued to the ground while the rest of her was acutely aware of her surroundings. She leapt from tree to tree, keeping an ever watchful eye before, quite suddenly, there were no more tracks. Freezing, she looked around her for any sign, any sign at all, that the tracks continued in some way. There were none. Confused, she back-tracked, easily finding them again. They had faltered slightly, but were still strong. Wrinkling her brow, she walked along side them, watching ever so closely as they, literally, disappeared. She narrowed her eyes in thought, pondering the disappearance of the sprinting tracks. She turned her gaze to the canopy. Could it fly? She turned back to tracks, a frown marring her features. Perhaps it was getting a running start. Creatures of flight always ran in straight lines before they took off anyhow, which would explain this creatures path. Still…

The creature she now had in her mind made no sense. It killed a Howler so it had to be strong. Possibly huge. It seemed to have access to technology as well, considering the steaming rocket hole and the intricately designed spear, as much as the thought baffled her. It was a biped, possibly humanoid judging from its tracks, and apparently could fly. Taking in all this information, she looked back up to the trees. In order to lift something like that, its wingspan must have been huge. The trees here were pretty close together, she couldn't see it actually taking off before crashing head first into one of the trunks. Maybe it had leapt through the canopy first? But it had been bitten by a Howler for heaven's sake! It should already be dead!

Slightly unnerved by what her midnight crusade had revealed, she strode over to a small stream of water. Washing her hands from grime she lifted her mask, cupped some water into her now clean—well as clean as they could get—hands and took a long, silent drink. The cool water slid down her throat, calming her fraying nerves. She contemplated for a while, before decided that going back home now would be pointless. She had to at least have a solid conclusion, and nothing had attacked her of yet, besides, the water tasted good. She went to take another handful before movement caught her attention.

Her lip curled as she saw the vine snaking towards her in slow, silent motions. Carnivorous plants. Damn them all. Unhurried, and completely unruffled by the sight of several vines creeping their way towards her intent on suffocating her, she unfastened a second skin pouch from her belt, this one with a firm neck and cap for water. She filled it in the stream, absently flicking away the vines that attempted to wrap around her ankles as she waited for the bottle to fill. Once it was, she made one powerful leap to the trees, just narrowly avoiding a collaborative ambush from all the vines that had slowly surrounded her. She snorted as the tangled within themselves, searching for their prey.

Settling herself into the embrace of the tree, and catching a striking tree snake by its head, she took a large swig of the river water as she threw the offending reptilian to the ground. It gave a hiss in protest but she paid it little mind, wrapping the spear around her to rest in her lap. After a few more swallows, she leaned towards the edge of the tree, directly above where the tracks abruptly ended. She pondered just what the thing was, recognizing it as a threat to her safety and wondered if it would be a permanent resident or not. It proved to be specifically resilient to the Howler bite, and whether it survived or not was still a mystery.

She suddenly jumped, a shrill cry erupting into the air as the sounds of a gruesome battle rent the night. She dropped her water, startled, as her hands flew towards her spear and shield. The water pouch landed with a wet splash as the liquid flew out of the still open lid. The sounds of a far off battle still echoed in the air, slowly fading until one last dying screech was heard, accentuated by the unmistakable sound of crunching bone. Her muscles relaxed slightly, knowing that whatever beast had died, it was sating the belly of another. However, her hackles rose again when another, more unfamiliar sound broke the silence of the night.

It sounded like…electricity, crackling and cackling, sparking as energy coursed through machinery. She turned her attention slowly downwards, afraid of what she might find. Carefully, warily, she edged closer and closer over the tree ledge, peering down below. What met her sights was nothing that she had ever prepared herself for. Lightning. Small, electric tendrils sparked and flickered, as if trying to stay alive but unable to win. They receded in brilliant lights of white and blue, what was once unseen now exposed to the naked eye. It fought for a moment, attempted to cover the creature in some sort of invisibility cloak before dying yet again, hissing as it retreated off the body for the last time.

She could only stare.

Its body was…massive. She had no doubts in her mind that this was the creature she was looking for, and she was not wrong to assume that it was biped. It was and also…unnervingly humanoid. She swallowed thickly, willing to clear her throat as she tried, and failed, to reign in her runaway mind. She could count on one hand the number of times she had actually lost control of coherent thought. Once was when her best friend's older sister had burst into their room during a sleepover in nothing but her underwear, waving a bottle of whisky in one hand, and madly pointing to the party upstairs with a slurred invitation. Another was when her own sister had calmly seated herself at the dinner table and then promptly announced that she was engaged. The third was when she woke up in the hospital, and the doctor told her that her family was dead. The fourth was when she first came to this island and fully realized her situation. There hadn't been another surprise since. Not until now.

"Five," She murmured. "You're five."

It was unreal, the positions that she continually found herself in throughout her life. This was always the kind of thing that you assumed would always happen to someone else. But at this moment, she supposed that such thoughts really didn't matter. She was in slack jawed amazement, dumfounded and confused as she took in the sight before her.

The body was about nine feet in length, two feet across at its widest, and…female. The skin was an odd mixture of colors. The majority of the body was a light tan color, almost like a cream, fading into brown at certain contours of the natural body angles, specifically down the arms and legs as well as the hands and feet. Strange, natural markings accented certain areas in feather like wisps and stripes. But was even more intriguing about these marks, was their color. A reddish orange, fading into a burgundy color to match the fading of the tan as well. _Rust, _her mind supplied. _It looks like rust. _And it did. The color at least. But that was just the natural part of the body. She was honestly surprised that she could discern such things underneath the ungodly amounts of metal it wore.

Starting at its feet, they were clad in a sandal of some sort. It had a thick sole and two straps including the heel to keep it on the foot, but other than that, it seemed almost for decoration rather than protection. Going up to its shins, they were covered in what looked to be some kind of mesh. Flitting her eyes up quickly, she found that it seemed to cover the entire body in some kind of suit. Other than that and a holster on the left leg for a wicked looking blade, the shins were bare. The thighs were a different story. Both were heavily weighed down with holsters, pouches and what appeared to be leather straps. And on one thigh, a massive gash was leaking neon green blood into the ground. The wound was puckered, discolored, and she could see the network of veins spidering away from the wound as the discoloration continued and the bacteria worked.

Wincing a bit in pity, she moved up to its hips. These, she noticed, flared out quite a bit. Strung across this wide expanse were…she couldn't even count how many trinkets and tools hung from the creatures hips. She could discern three belts, each heavily weighed down with pockets, knives, some circular disk that she couldn't name, and other miscellaneous attentions. One thing that drew her eyes the most, though, was the numerous skulls that littered the body. They were strung on strings, decorating the body in strands of bones made from the remains of some small creature or another. A loin cloth covered the essentials along with a metal plating much like the one she wore now. It was obviously more decorative though, layered metal shrinking down until the tip of the metal strip tapered to a point. She assumed it was the same on the back as well.

Moving up to the well defined midriff, she noticed more of the rust colored stripes underneath the fish net body suit. There was no armor to cover the stomach, but instead there sported an ugly scar. It marred the features and caused the skin there to shine. _Burn mark, _her mind supplied. This creature had been playing with fire. She looked at the scar again, following it with her eyes as the ragged scar lined her upper ribcage all the way down to her navel in a slanted streak. _Or the fire had been playing with it. _She thought, her hands drifting to the diagonal slash marks on her own stomach.

Her eyes travelled further, to the creature's chest. Here, she noticed with some amounts of shock, was a sizable bust. And, to her utter bafflement, they way it was dressed seemed to be showing it off. The armor only covered the bosom part ways, allowing for cleavage to show as it protected the most vital parts. Surprisingly, the area above the heart was bare of protection. Why, she could not tell, but like everything else on the body, even this area was scattered with weapons. It appeared that there were twin daggers on the sides of the ribcage and under her arms, their holsters a part of the armor itself. Her eyes then traversed the neck, across broad, but feminine shoulders, and down long armor covered arms, one of which seemed to have some sort of bladed mechanism attached.

The creature was raised slightly, due to a bump of metal on its back, and she imagined that if it had been standing, then it would appear to have a hunched back. She could only guess its function, but just looking at an odd juncture on one of its shoulders sent a cold chill down her spine. The last part that drew her attention was the face itself. Or, what she could see of it; covered in a mask. And what a mask it was. Plain silver, inlaid with gold decorations that imitated the contours of the face beneath in streaks, lines and wisps. Her eyes locked onto the forehead where a strange symbol had been carved—this one unlike the rest for it was done harshly and lacking in the beautifying craftsmanship that decorated the rest of the armor.

The armor itself, though, on every part of the creature, seemed overly decorative to her. Gold plated, engraved, curved in superfluous lines and pieces. It was impressive no doubt, but she had the niggling feeling in the back of her mind that it meant something more than just protection. The color, the detail; it was a status. And a status meant a complex civilization. She swallowed.

Leaping down silently from her perch, curiosity overwhelming her common sense, she crept silently towards it. Knees bent, squatted down and carefully placing one foot over the next as she had her hands and arms aiding in the approach, she set her spear and shield down. Out of the way, but close in case anything decided that she would be the main course for dinner. Lifting her mask to rest atop of her head, she exposed her dirty face. It was an even more magnificent sight without the ocular impairment of the mask.

When she was close enough, she reached a shaky hand forward. She hesitated inches away from touching the skin on its arm. Taking a tentative glance to its covered face to make sure it was well and truly unconscious, she shifted on her feet. Another breath later, and her eyes firmly planted on the expressionless eyes of the creature before her, she lowered her trembling hand.

Rough.

The skin was thick, strong, and not easily penetrated from what she could feel. It also had a slightly…pebbled texture to it. Almost like gooseflesh when a person was cold but rougher and more textured. And warm. It radiated ridiculous amounts of heat, more so than what was natural. She was so surprised by it at first that she pulled her hand back as if it had actually physically been burned. And to her, it might as well have been.

She hadn't felt anything that warm before besides the blood of her kill. The reptilian creatures she shared this island were anything but comfortable, and their skin was like ice. Her furs only provided warmth when she was in them, like any other covering, and a fire she could not touch. For this reason, she could not stop herself from placing not only her hand on the arm, but grabbing the appendage itself and hoisting it into her lap as she sat down. Poking and prodding at the alien limb as she enjoyed its heat, she had to wonder when the last time it was that she could have this. The contact, she meant.

Of course, she had had contact with that buffoon of a man by the name of Jason. But it wasn't anything outside of pulling him out of harm's way, or shoving him into poop. The one before him was completely and totally wary of her. He kept his distance and was so jumpy that even the smallest of sound would send him into panic, bullets ripping the air as he shot at the phantoms of his fear. Trying to touch him would end up with the barrel of the gun firmly pointed in her direction, and a shaky hand behind the trigger. She could only remember the name of the one before that. Marvin. She hadn't known why she had been tempted to laugh when he told her his name, but she snorted all the same. He took offense. Needless to say, his curious behavior had him wandering in all directions. He was dead in a week.

But the point she was trying to make, was that she hadn't had any contact with humans outside the necessary since…well since she came here. Never had she found another female human to take care of, and the males didn't ever last long. The feeling of being connected to someone…the idea was lost on her. And finding something in this hell, human or not, it was a comfort. She could feel its pulse on the inside of its wrist, and she marveled at how it was still alive.

Part of her told her to get up and leave. She had sated her curiosity, she'd had her fun, and she knew that the creature before her was dying. It would be no threat to her. Even as she felt that pulse, she could tell that it was fading, and rapidly. Common sense told her to let it die. One less predator to have, one less worry on her mind. Things could return to normal and as they once were. And for a moment, she listened.

But then something else took over her senses. Sympathy. Respect. Admiration. And…loneliness. She knew that whatever this was, or where it came from, that it was intelligent. Technology far, far ahead of the humans proved that. And she wondered…wondered that if she saved its life, that it would return the favor. She wondered if it would know, and acknowledge, her situation and what she had done for it, assuming that she did heal it. She knew she could, medicine was a hard thing to go without when you're surrounded by poisons, and she had become a master of the art. But the question was not if she could…but if she _would. _

It was a confusing set of feelings. On one hand, it could easily kill her as easily as it had murdered the Howler, ignoring her good and selfless deed. But on the other, she could gain a companion of sorts. There were several outcomes if she did heal this dying beast. It could kill her. It could thank her. It could simply leave.

It could help her.

It had killed a Howler, and proved that, without a doubt, it could hold itself here in these harsh environments. It would not die, it would not starve, and it would not back down. It could endure, and possibly, it could endure with her. She never got attached to the men that somehow ended up on this island. It was always strictly impersonal with them because she knew, knew the moment that she saw them that they weren't going to survive. It was a miracle that she was alive, that she had made it with her naïve mind and clumsy body, but she was. And this creature was the opposite.

Idly stroking the palm of its hand, she wondered if it would stay, if she healed it. She was curious, she will admit. What she was looking at obviously wasn't a human. Actually she was thinking along the lines of extraterrestrial, and if that was true, then there must be a world of knowledge. If it could speak, it could tell her things. And by now, she was so thirsty for knowledge, for company, for _humanism, _that she would take anything that she could get.

Looking down to the huntress before her, she ran it through her mind one last time. She stood, staring down unto the dying beast, her decision made.

The enemy of her enemy wasn't necessarily her friend. But for this, she could make an exception.

* * *

There were three things that Tul'duh noticed when she awoke, each in succession to the other in a domino effect. The first was that she was alive. And thank the _Goddess_ that she was. She thanked her profusely as her senses slowly, ever so slowly came back to her as the darkness receded. The second thing she noticed was that, as her senses were coming back to her, she repeatedly wished that they weren't. For one, it smelled something foul. Stench surrounded her no matter which way she turned her head. Pain ricocheted off her skeleton and rattled her bones to the marrow, vibrated her muscles and agitating ever tendon and ligament that brought her muscular body together. Agony ripped through her senses, and nothing more prominent than her thigh where the initial wound was inflicted. And again, she found herself ready to vomit. The separated, clumpy, and slimy texture of her own, semi-dried blood in her mouth along with the bitter, metallic tang was enough to trigger her gag reflex. And as she turned to spit out the awful substance, she came to her third, and final, mile-a-minute realizations.

Her mask was gone.

Wide eyed and caught in her rare moments of surprise, Tul'duh leapt to her feet, hands going to wherever her weapons were. Only…she couldn't. Her attempts were rewarded with the rude wake-up call that she couldn't move _at all. _Not so much as a finger twitched as she commanded her body to move. The only thing that seemed mobile was the use of her neck up, and while roaring was useful, it was not proficient in actual combat. Irritated clicks filled the air as agitation slowly crept over her. This was not a good position to be in. Not at all. And when she found the little _pauke-de _that did this to her, she was going to slit it from its neck to its crotch and allow it a slow and miserable death.

After many attempts to move, she began to take in the finer details of her surroundings. One of which stopped her mental urgencies entirely. She wasn't in a forest anymore. The jungle scenery had all but vanished and had been replaced by…a type of dwelling. Now she never considered herself a master of the human civilization, but she was fairly certain that whatever twisted island she found herself on was not one that a human could survive on, let alone find enough time and supplies to build a proper shelter.

With this information, she narrowed down her current situation to only two possibilities. Either an alien race actually had broken intergalactic law and decided to settle here, or she was losing her mind to the poison in her system. Neither thought was fairly comforting, and when coupled when the thought that she could not move, it became infuriating. She only barely contained her bellow of frustration and anger in light of her current situation, but as she took in her surroundings, the urge was beginning to rise dramatically. She had no weapons on her. All of them, and she meant ever single deadly, useful, and beautifully crafted one of them were no longer attached to her body. Along with her mask, the tank on her back that supplied her air, plasma for the plasma blaster, and energy for the cloaking device, her twin bladed arm mechanism, her control panel, and every other assortment of weapons were all gone. And as she swiveled her head as best she could, they were nowhere in sight either.

Growling, a grating sound vibrating in her chest and in the back of her throat, she attempted to calm herself, drinking in her surroundings for future reference.

She was in a hut of sorts. It was rather small, just managing to fit herself with some room to spare for what appeared to be a fire pit, a massive nest of furs, and a little walking space. The ceiling however, was a different story. It was rather tall, to be honest, and she figured that she might actually be able to stand comfortably to her full height if she could. The walls seemed to be covered in some sort of animal hide (of what she couldn't tell) that was nailed into thick logs that made up the walls of the structure. One thing she did find peculiar though, was that a tree limb, one about as thick as her thigh, wound its way through the floor and up through the opposing wall in a haphazard spiral. On this intruding vegetation limb, though, was what appeared to be…shelves. Shelves aligned in a spiral fashion around the trunk.

The shelves were made from what seemed to be a random compilation of anything remotely flat, strong, and wide, resulting in the materials ranging anywhere from woven vines, to skeletal bone. On these makeshift surfaces rested odd containers, knick-knacks, and—if Tul'duh was not mistaken a particularly large wooden box. It was not perfect, made only for its use and nothing to do with decoration.

And on the topic of such superfluous things, Tul'duh was mildly surprised to find that whatever lived here, must be a yautja by the apparent love of trophies. Near the nest and fire pit at the far end of the hut—specifically the walls enclosing that space—there rested skull upon skull, bone upon bone of past kills. All mounted meticulously on the walls. Some had been taken down and littered across the furs as if in preparation for something. But something was indeed strange about this yautja, if that was indeed what inhabited this place, for all the skulls and bones were severally decorated with carvings, etchings, and colored paints. Tul'duh couldn't think of anyone that would defile their trophies so, and it baffled her that someone would actually take the time to put what was obviously a concerted amount of effort into such blasphemy.

Of course, if a yautja was crazy enough to choose to live here of all places, then he or she would most certainly gain leeway in face of whatever mental illness they suffered. Other than the fanciful decorations of the trophies around her, and the strange items and suspicious containers lining the shelves, she found nothing else worthy of her attention. The only other thing that warranted her eyes was when she turned to the wall that she was placed along only to find what appeared to be a portrait. A massive skin had been placed along the entirety of the wall, hung up by its four corners and pulled taught. Starting at the upper left corner, Tul'duh could make out what appeared to be a rendition of mountains, clouds, and a small waterfall with startling clarity and precision painted in vivid colors. The brilliantly lifelike scenic portrait continued until it ended about a fourth of the way through where the painting split off into rougher, less detailed lines and broader strokes with a plain brown color.

From there, the painting seemed to lose its realism. Through the rough strokes she could make out creatures of the likes that she had never seen before. Amphibian like creatures, half water dwelling with long, extremely decorative tails, and the upper half being that of a human female. In the same scene, birds of flight with monstrous beaks and enormous wingspans set the background for the water-human. The painting flitted from scene to scene, from forest to desert, to ocean, to ancient cultures in which she recognized what the humans referred to as _pir'ami'ds, _then abruptly, yet somehow slowly blended into the humans modern cities. It seemed that everywhere she looked there was something that she had missed before, each glance interpreting progressively more and more confusing images. And in one corner, a rather sizable chunk actually, there was nothing. The lines faded, the images stopped, and there was simply nothing. Tul'duh tilted her head a ways, a curious trill emitting from her prone form before she could stop it.

"I haven't decided what to put there yet."

Tul'duh whipped her head around so quickly that her hair fanned about around her like an elaborate crown and she heard a crick in her neck pop. The creature she laid eyes on was not one of her own kind, and she was shocked, actually _shocked, _to see to oddest human she had ever encountered before. But even more so because she hadn't heard it enter the dwelling _at all. _

The human was a female, she could tell, from the lack of a bulge in the groin area and a sizable bust in the chest. She couldn't calculate an exact age, but it was fairly young, possibly just barely reaching an adult. It was rather tall for the females that she had encountered before, perhaps above the average height, but still feminine in body type. The humans form looked surprisingly light despite its body size, and Tul'duh was careful to note that it also looked fairly muscular. At least as much as the female of their species could. Due to their unfortunate DNA, the females lacked considerable strength in light of their male counterparts, which she would point out now, was pathetically overshadowed by even the weakest of her species.

The attire it wore was even stranger than the odd presence it emitted. It wore no shoes to speak off, and its feet were heavily scarred and calloused, dirty, and poorly cared for. The legs were bare as well, except for a foul smelling mud that Tul'duh was beginning to suspect was something other than…mud. It wore a loin cloth as well as her, and appeared to be made of a rather flexible fabric, one that she could not place, and was black in color. The ends were ratty and torn, yet not frayed or unraveled in the least. The simple garment was kept in place by what looked to be a leather string tied tightly about the hips, allowing for the overhang to flop down. Its midriff was in a similar sate of undress, bare except for that odd mud and a collage of smeared dirt and vegetation. Its bust was held in place by a wreath of scaly skin, black and glossy on one side, and some type of fur pressed up to the females skin.

But the strangest piece of attire was mounted to her head. A skull to be exact, one that nearly fit the humans face perfectly and even had a catch at the back to keep it on the face. The skull was long with small, narrow eyeholes that looked more like slits than anything else on either side of the head, and ended just after the females chin, surrounding her chin with the teeth of the creature. The human female looked out from the high set nostril cavities on the center of the skull. What was most noticeable however was the long, ragged crack that spidered its way down the skulls front, as if it had taken an immense blow in some way or another.

She also wore a cape of some sort, though it was hard to tell because it was also covered in the stench-emitting mud. It appeared to have feathers on it, but it was hard to tell through all of the grime. It was tied firmly around her neck with two strips coming over her shoulders to drift in front. While the strips ended at her hips, the back dragged across the floor, even when she stood at a full height. All three sections were ragged at the end, having seen their fair share of life. What hair the human had was tightly strapped to the back of her head, unable to discern texture of any sort. There was no telling of its length or color, again, due to the suspicious mud.

"I ran out of ideas." It said. Tul'duh was lost for a moment before realizing that it was talking about the portrait. It looked upon it itself, as if contemplating what should fill the blank space before turning its attentions back down to her. Tul'duh peered up into the nose holes of the mask, unable to see the actual eyes of the human as they continued to look at each other. And then, to Tul'duh's curiosity, the human simply turned its gaze back to the painting. This confused her, to an extent. In her experience, it was difficult to get a human to disregard your presence once it was discovered. Tul'duh contemplated this as she took in the female a second time, again noting the overall haggard appearance of it.

After a while, though, she was restless. She began again to try to move, her determination rising anew in the face of the human in front of her. The human however, did not move a centimeter from its crouched position, simply watching as Tul'duh began to twitch in random spasms. The human didn't move at all as she spoke, and for a moment, the huntress wondered if it was really alive. "You won't be able to move for a while," it said calmly, its gaze fixed firmly on the portrait in front of her. "An after affect of the bacteria in your system." Here, the female turned her attention, finally, downwards to look at Tul'duh on the floor. "I've already administered an antibiotic, but it will take a while for the paralysis to wear off. Be patient."

To her surprise, Tul'duh did not take offense to this order. Instead, she was only curious. She—this little human that is—gave her an antidote? How had it known? Not only that but it seemed to know exactly what it was talking about. Tul'duh was not one to be caught in states of awe, but she found herself reluctantly slipping into that superficial place of mind. How in the name of Paya had this little creature survived? It was small, to Tul'duh at least, and its breakable frame was easy to shatter. But despite this weakness in the human, it seemed to know how to survive. The idea was preposterous. Humans were not equipped to live in places such as this, and for one to have lived long enough to know a creature and its bite meant that, perchance, it had been living here for quite some time.

And that brought her to another question. How had it moved her? Tul'duh was not small, even by yautja standards she was one of the larger females, something she prided herself in, and for the human before her to move her was simply impossible. So where were the others? There had to have been several of the male of their species to help—which was strange to her because humans were naturally wary of anything unfamiliar and usually unwilling to help in most things—or at least a type of machinery involved. She dismissed the idea as soon as it came. There was no way that the group of humans that had, for some reason, saved her were in possession of the rickety technology they created.

So where were the rest? There had to be a good many. Humans may be weak but get them in a sizable number and they became surprisingly strong. Where they out hunting? The thought nearly made her snort, but she held it in. Still, as Tul'duh took in the human before her again, she wondered where its family, or clan, was. Perhaps even its mate. But as these questions swam around her mind, Tul'duh slowly began to become more and more suspicious.

Just what was the human, or humans, doing on this island in the first place? Why were their creatures here that did not belong with anything else on the planet? They did not belong, nor will they ever belong, in such a place. Yet here they were. The more and more Tul'duh thought of it, the more a gut-wrenching feeling grew. The type of feeling that one got when one knew that _something _just wasn't right. It didn't feel, look, or appear natural. Tul'duh was curious of this…special situation. But she was more wary and suspicious than anything else.

The entire island didn't belong. Not on the Blue Planet.

A sort of languid trepidation crept over her as she stared at the small human female. Whatever mischief was going on, Tul'duh was determined to find out. She was an Honored warrior, and while she was no Arbitrator—those who stuck down cowards and Bad Bloods—she considered this, if there truly is dealings of the underhanded sort happening, her responsibility. Content with this line of thought, she supposed that killing the humans was out of the question. Obviously, if a female had been able to survive in such harsh conditions, then there must be a thriving civilization of sorts, perhaps a tribe, in which she could glean information from. The humans have, for she was convinced that there were many, been here the longest and know more than she at the moment did. It was a blow to her pride, both because of her mistake and because she required healing assistance, but now because she was going to ask of these creatures a favor. She grimaced. Asking a lower species for help…how embarrassing.

Looking to the small human again, and noticing that it was fairly young, she wondered if she should ask for an older human, but then decided against it. Any human would do, old or young, male or female, and seeing as how _this _one gave her the antidote to the poison, Tul'duh figured that she owed it at least that respect.

"Ooman," she started, her voice grating from the unfamiliar language. Really, what kind of species used their tongues to speak? Nevertheless, it had captured the young female's attention fairly well, her skull adorned head snapping quickly as soon as the yautja spoke. "Where are others?" Tul'duh winced at her harsh interpretation of the alien tongue, but supposed that it would serve her purpose just fine. The human, however, simply continued to stare. Come now, she knew she wasn't that bad. Irritated clicking filling the air around them, Tul'duh began again, this time in a tone as harsh as her strained vocal chords would allow. "Ooman! Where are—!"

Tul'duh never got to finish. Yet again, the warrior was completely baffled at how many times this little human was able to surprise her. As soon as she began to speak, the human leaned forward, snapping up her mask to expose a face, and after what appeared to be a moment of observation, she took her hands and hooked them into Tul'duh's mandibles. Prying and pulling, the little human worked in circular patterns, stretched, working her jaw like it naturally would, and gently touching the inner cheeks of her mouth. More than taken aback at the stupidly bold move, Tul'duh didn't know how to react besides anger. So, growling ferociously, snarling, and gnashing at her fingers, Tul'duh yanked her head about, trying to rid it of the humans grip.

But the human was undeterred by sharp flurry of teeth and the fury. In fact, it seemed that she became even more determined to take a closer look. "You speak," she said, a note of disbelief in her voice. "How?"

_Pauking ooman! _Tul'duh thought. _I should skin you alive! _Still trying to shake the somehow still attached, and very much annoying, appendages off of her face, Tul'duh growled even louder, voicing her displeasures. And to her utter relief, the hands were gone. Withdrawn as if they had been in danger of being severed or burned, the human retracted its hands. Proud that she had managed to scare the human into submission, Tul'duh nearly allowed a smug smile to glide across her features, but they stopped short at the human's next words.

"Do it again."

The warrior didn't know how to respond. It took only a moment to come to the conclusion that no, the human had not retreated in the face of danger, but rather impatient curiosity. Wide eyed and staring, Tul'duh was struck by a pair of grey eyes—eyes the color of storm clouds that warned of a tempest to come. And now they cackled with an unearthly glow, akin to lightning lighting up the skies like a heavens ward flash backlit by a dark, dirty face so hidden that even her features were disguised.

Truly, Tul'duh was a female to be reckoned with. She was easily offended, quick to retaliate, and hard to please. Everything was a challenge, everyone was competition, and she thrived on glory. Victory in its smallest of forms pleased her to no end, her pride and egotism boosting each and every time. Humans were her pastime, yautja were her species, challenges her entertainment, females her subordinates, males her followers. Her mind was hotwired for success and leadership—she could picture herself in no other position. She was witty, clever, even sly. She was powerful, strong and looked up to.

And now, she felt like nothing more than a dumbstruck fool looking upon something that she understood completely, yet not at all. A riddle with no solution, a paradox, a mystery that has already been solved, yet went unanswered. She did not understand why she felt such a way, especially towards a human, but something was telling her that this female was not supposed to be looked over. Something about her hinted at a higher intelligence. An odd glint in those stormy eyes told her that the human knew much more than it was letting on.

Through this haze of suspicion and a new found…something for the little human, Tul'duh managed to croak out her request for the third time, wondering how many times she would have to say it. Tul'duh may be wonderstruck at the creature before her, but that wasn't to say she was a patient character. "Where are others?"

The human tilted its head, as if contemplating its words. The briefest of emotion flashed across her eyes, (whether it was recognition or pain, Tul'duh was lost on) and then subsided, the brilliance that was in the humans eyes before fading into a harsh, almost blank, shade.

"There are none." This was said with such a candid countenance that Tul'duh was forced to reevaluate the human in front of her for its frank behavior. If it was one thing that fascinated the warrior about the humans, it was that their eyes, always one color, could change dramatically, so much like her own. And now, she watched, fascinated, if not mildly disturbed, as the human's eyes darkened and clouded over, its face expressionless as the change occurred. It was a look so penetrating and intense that the yautja was momentarily stunned. The only time that she had seen such a look—one that belayed years of wisdom—was in the face of the High Elder, one who was well past the prime of his life.

To find such a potent emotion in the eyes of one so young was surprising, and it only scratched the surface of what the human had lived through to gain such a gaze. It was one spliced unequally between confidence, mournful sorrow, wisdom, and contemplative thought. An intense gaze that rooted Tul'duh to the spot, freezing her to examine the dulled light trying to break through the clouds of the human's bleared optics.

But Tul'duh couldn't look for long, because as a screech rent the air, rising above the general clamor that filled the jungle, horrible and high-pitched, the human snapped her attention to the estranged sound. The human only hesitated an instant, as if thinking of some obscure plan, before jumping into action. Grabbing a long, white object that appeared to be a sharpened bone, for the human moved so fast that it was difficult to tell what it was, and then fastening a pouch to her hip by a string, she was off. Pulling down her mask as she pushed away the skin flap that acted as an entrance covering, allowing a wave of heat to pass through the dwelling.

And just like that, Tul'duh found herself alone.

* * *

It could _speak. _

That was the only thing truly registering in the girls mind as she raced through the tree tops, in fast pursuit of that evening's dinner. The Sprinters always traveled in packs of at least five, and it was difficult to separate one from the group, but she had managed, as she always did, and was closing in. How she was able to catch up with a Sprinter was a wonder to her, but obviously the creature of her attentions was surprised too, and appeared to know that unless its fellow pack mates came to its rescue, then it would soon meet its end. Hence the ridiculous amounts of screeching as she chased it. She knew she had to silence the little imp before its call was answered. She drew her short sword to the front of her body and flipping her wrist so that the blade ran along the outside of her forearm. One well executed sweep to the back of the neck was all it would take.

Like most of the beasts on this island, their necks were fairly well protected, thick muscle and well nourished bones helped with that. But she had found that all of them had a special "sweet spot", and if hit, this sweet spot was their downfall. For the prey she was hunting now, it was located at the back of the throat where the rigid cartilage of its steel-like air pipes lessened considerably to allow major arteries and other unnamable innards access to both the brain and the vocal chords, so that it could screech so high pitched and loud. It was also her saving grace when she had killed the Sprinter that now adorned her head. If the reader remembered, she had punched a sharp stone down its open mouth with all her force. After studying it, she later realized that she actually hit a pressure point where the cartilage and the arteries met, resulting in the large vein to explode upon contact and killing it instantly.

But going in from the front was unreasonably risky and stupid, so like with most of her prey, she took them out from behind, where they were less likely to attack. Drawing her straying thoughts together as much as she could, considering that the alien that she had just saved could actually _talk, _she focused at the task at hand and raced on. She was closing in now, and the Sprinter was getting desperate, darting in a zigzag fashion in order to lose her, even going so far as to squeeze into tight corners, all the while crying for help. After it made a near ninety-degree turn at top speed, she almost lost balance in her haste to catch up with it. But it made the fatal mistake of looking back at her, and in that instant, it tripped.

Now, if Tul'duh had been this situation, she, along with most of her race, would have momentarily paused, or even slowed down to allow the best to rise and run again. It was no fun to hunt something if its downfall was of its own accord. The trophy would be disgraced and dirtied, useless and unable to join the scores of skulls in their trophy rooms. But she, this girl who had lived in this place for so many years, did no such thing. From another point of view, it was really the only reason why she was still alive. Her instinct told her to do things on complete and utter impulse, and she followed it unconditionally. If it was someone else's instinct, she might be a little more wary of what decisions were being made, but in this case, even if someone else's instincts were telling her what to do…this was a no brainer.

She gave it no mercy, no reprieve, no chance to even get to its feet before she launched head first towards its body. Twisting her torso to the right, she held her left arm out in front of her, just under her rib cage and fully extended, her hand out with her fingers arched. Her right hand contained her blade, the white of the bone dull and browning, but as strong as ever as she bent her arm and arched her shoulder back, preparing for the final strike. She tucked up her legs slightly, the soles of her feet aiming to connect with the creatures hips, toes splayed so that they could absorb the shock of the impact and for better grip.

Time seemed to slow as she saw the creature ready to rise, her body coming closer and closer to its kill. She saw its muscles ripple, saw the its jaws open to cry yet again, and located where that wonderful little pressure point was, that glorious sweet spot that she had found by chance. She licked her lips, knowing that tonight was going to be a good night. Sprinter meat was particularly tasty in comparison to its fellow creatures, and it had been a while since she had the pleasure of tasting it. She usually only hunted Sprinters if they strayed into her territory (yes, she had a territory) where she knew the land best and could separate, trap and kill one easily. She may be able to catch one, but it was still a hard won reward.

All at once, she hit the unfortunate creature. It screeched horribly as the impact forced its body to slam harshly and painfully into the ground. Her left hand latched onto the skin of its neck, her fingers gripping so strongly that it broke the thick hide, blue flooding around her finger nails. Her feet latched onto the groove that its hip bones made on either side of its body, providing a firm foundation as she took the impact. Her knees absorbed the shock well, but it she knew that it would have rattled her teeth had she not been clenching them, well away from her tongue.

Swinging her blade, wrist, arm, shoulder, and body around with a grunt, she dug her weapon deep into the flesh of the neck in a dramatic arch, blood spurting out and up, spraying onto her face and bathing her it its vivid color as she followed through with the move. Its dying screech was cut short as all connection to its brain was suddenly severed. It fell limp beneath her exerted body, her chest heaving up and down from the strain it had taken to catch the thing. But a smile made its way to her features. She would be eating like a queen tonight.

Humming idly to herself, creatures of the jungle around her incessantly adding their own voices, she began to methodically hack at its limbs, severing them one by one. The thighs she was always regretted leaving, for they were thick with meat and healthy and she could easily carry them, but her stomach didn't really have room for them until the fall, and it just rotted away in her hut. She pouted a little. If only she could consume ungodly amounts of meat like her neighbors. Then this wouldn't be a problem.

Nevertheless, as she severed the last leg, she hefted the limbs and through them a little away into the prominent brush around her, the Scurrys and other Scavengers diving in on the meat. _At least it's not going to waste, _she thought, bending down to the corpse and digging her blade into its sternum. Panting, she roughly tore open the body from neck to crotch, performing a field gut right there. A foul stench rose up to meet her efforts, and she gagged behind her mask. Reaching into the steaming, gooey and smelly mess, her reaching fingers found the spine, and with some persistence, she cut through it with her blade near the neck. Pulling with all her might, and using the carcass as a brace, she pulled its skeleton out, its main organs slipping their way out through the gaps the ribcage made. The smell increased tenfold, and she became nauseous. If only it didn't taste so good.

Digging through its vitals, she severed a few sizable chunks of its liver and heart, deposited them in the bag at her hip, and turned to a nearby tree. Using her blade again to cut a rather large vine hanging from its branches, she brought the impromptu rope and tied it securely around the neck of the beast. And so began the arduous task of dragging the thing back to her base before some other predator decided to make a meal out of _her. _

Dragging the Sprinter through the foliage was no easy task, but it was a noisy one. She cringed and flinched as the body crashed through underbrush and crinkled dead leaves and sticks under its weight. She could not slow down in fear of staying in one place too long, but if she went fast then the noise would increase. This may be her territory, but the monsters here feared her little. To them, she was nothing more than the next meal that was just a little harder to catch. She wasn't too keen on being found and eaten so soon.

And so she kept a medium speed, trudging through the thick ground and greenery whilst dragging the beast behind her. It was well into the red-streaked sunset when she arrived at her hut, ruby beams streaming across the sky like an elaborate decoration as she gazed upon her dwelling. It wasn't a very large place, but it was perfect for the season. Near the ground to keep cool, but high enough that creatures like Sprinters or the Scurry wouldn't be able to reach it. The high boughs of the tree it was built around prevented from areal attacks of the Screecher and other carnivorous birds. Dead branches and logs had been tied together with braided vines and strapped in with tight knots to create walls. Two large beams supported the floor by extending from one tree fork to the next, while a rather sizable tree limb wound up through the floor itself and off a little to the side. All in all, it looked like a bit of a tree house, except its contents were more of an armory than the home knick-knacks one would find in a stereotypical fort.

Still, it gave her some sense of being human, building it to look in such a way. Inside, she supposed, was an odd mix of extravaganza that meshed native warrior with inner city student. And she uses these words because inside was a small collection of skulls, and amongst the shelves that she had erected were things that she'd picked off of the humans that came here. One of which had been a doctor and for some reason had been lugging around an extremely explicit textbook of anatomy and the study of acupuncture along with all the supplies for such a practice. She'd had no idea what it was until she began to read the book, surprising herself with how many words that she had remembered.

That book, along with the little box of needles, were her prized possessions beside her bone mask, and the ever faithful bone saber that she was convinced was unbreakable from the amount of times it had been crunched beneath the jaws of some unnamed beast and survived. She worried though, that as stable as her fortress may be, that one day it would be destroyed and she'd have nothing left. _Especially _the masterpiece she was creating on the wall. Painting had never been a strong point with her. She could draw, yes, but not realistically. She was much too impatient for that. But painting, she found, required utmost precision, an eye for technique, and the very thing that she lacked. So she decided to try it. Try it and make something that one would never expect to find here.

The painting itself was somewhat of an odd one. She never knew what she was going to paint when she went to sleep, and often had no idea what to do with the brush once it was in her hand. It simply came to her, of its own leisure and accord and filled her head with images that seemed vaguely familiar. The mermaid at the center had confused her after she had finished painting the outline. She was even more confused when her hand moved of its own accord and drew birds in the background. What? But she left it be, for it was the product of her splintered and fragmented memory and imagination. The painting brought memories back, it seemed. The more she painted, the more she remembered and the less worried she became of her predicament. It was like finding new friends, these little memories, filling her with a sense of accomplishment and excitement as she dissected them and made more connections to other memories in a massive puzzle. The pyramids, for example, had led her to remember what skyscrapers had looked like and the urban city shadowed below.

She took her time with this, wasting away the summer days as she made it as real and lifelike as possible. She hunted for new plants, experimented, and produced colors that she would have never thought she could here. This was her house of learning, her laboratory, her study, her sanctuary. She never felt more human here than in any other base, and so she kept it to this specific house. She refused to taint it with anything resembling the barbaric behavior that she was so accustomed to using. Even her kills, the various skulls that adorned her walls, were donated to the arts. Flourishes of brushes, paints and carvings decorated the once ferocious creatures, turning them into something else. Her current project, excluding the painting which was more of a never ending thought than it was a project to complete, was a massive tusk that she was carving miniature people into. The people, she had no idea where they had come from, but even as she carved them, her mind miles away, they tickled her memory as if she vaguely knew she knew them. Once.

But it was difficult to think about for too long. Her head would hurt, her hands would shake, and she got the oddest sensation. One that she was aware of, knew what it was, and yet at the same time, was completely alien to it. The stinging, itching behind the eyes, the tightness, dryness of the throat, the tingling of the nose; she felt as if she would cry. And crying, to shed those salty tears, was something that she hadn't done in a very long time.

Coming out of her musings, she continued to drag the beast to her hideout until she was quite close to the overall area. Dropping the rope with a relieving sigh, she walked happily to her fort, leaving the carcass behind. When she came to the base of the tree, she gripped the rough bark with her fingers, positioned her feet, and began to climb. Grunting she pulled herself higher and higher until she came to the underside of what she supposed one would call a landing, or a porch. In movements made expertise only through constant repetitiveness, she reached her fingers through a gap in the logs, swung, twisted, and arched so that she landed in an odd crouch at the very edge of the landing while releasing her handhold once gravity had worked in her favor. She smiled at the memory of many awkward positions she had landed herself in trying to get on this very landing.

Shaking herself from her thoughts yet again (she was disturbingly nostalgic today) she realized that leaving a sack of meat in a place where she couldn't immediately fend for it was obviously stupid. Seeing as such, she abruptly shot into motion and launched herself quietly off of the wooden plane and onto the greenery below, taking with her a system of interconnected ropes and spinning logs. As she landed, the device she had constructed herself clattered loudly behind her. Although it went completely unnoticed in the summer air, she still winced. With a certain contained swiftness in her step, she dragged the contraption behind her with both hands, her arms stretched back behind her. When it had reached its full length, she took both ends of the ladder-like construction and hooked their looped ends over protruding stakes in the ground. The odd, suspension bridge was pulled taught, making a nice ramp. Happy, she grabbed the rope attached to the Sprinter and began to methodically drag it up the ramp to her abode.

As was nearly ritual every time she dragged a kill far too heavy for her to carry on her body, she thanked whatever divine being that was watching over her to give her inspiration for _this. _The ramp, as stated before, was a ladder-esque suspension bridge thingamabob. Two ropes, parallel and roughly three feet apart, were attached at both ends to stakes at the landing, and stakes in the ground in a very slight angle, making for a steady ascent. Between these two ropes she had constructed a lattice work of more ropes to resemble the rungs of a ladder, but would not move since it was all connected. And on each of these "rungs" she attached a log with a hollowed out center. The logs were of a special breed of rotted tree; greenery that hadn't quite fully decomposed and was still strong, yet hollow. It made it worlds easier to drag heavy material up the sliding ramp, much like a conveyor belt. Unfortunately, it also was easy to slide things _down, _and one can easily imagine the trouble with getting up such an invention while _dragging something. _So, predictably, she slipped and slid, fumbled over her feet, and fell uncomfortably on her bottom far too many times for her liking all the while preventing her catch to slide all the way down and cursing every swear she could remember. After all the time she had done this, it still made it no easier to complete the task with some semblance of grace.

However, despite how utterly entertaining the image of a ferocious looking woman stumbling over her own feet as if she were a new born babe is, a drastically different event takes priority. Such as a monstrous body missing from one side of the wall. The creature, the _alien, _was gone. She froze in the doorway, on high alert. She remembered well what the little tendrils of blue lightning could do on the strange suit of armor the extraterrestrial wore. While she trusted her instinct, nose and ears, her sight was something that she was not keen on losing so easily.

Thoughts of dinner were immediately shelved as she inspected her dwelling. It looked…carelessly searched through. Not entirely ransacked, but messy nonetheless. Overturned bottles there, a scattered collection of skulls here, a few books strewn across the dwelling as if they had been tossed, their pages flapping open to random pages if they landed on the spines. Lowering her catch, she lightly stepped into her home. As she stepped further into the building, the view of her bed came to her sights. Behind her mask, she raised one eyebrow in incredulous surprise. Her bed, or rather the nest of furs that she sleeps in, had been turned upside-down and to the side to reveal the floor. The skulls she had mounted on her walls were missing, and upon closer inspection, she found them all hidden within the confines of her blankets.

Taking the sights in once more, and looking towards the door, her coiled muscles relaxed. It was gone. Thankfully, it felt no need to seek out revenge for hiding its things. In fact, judging by the way her home was, it seemed as though it were simply going through a systematic search spurred by both need and curiosity, tossing away things that either had no interest or value, and letting alone the things that it wasn't even remotely snagged by.

Letting out a sigh at the mess, she bent to retrieve the book at her feet, a novel by the name of _Little Women, _a horribly boring book but she kept it any ways_. _She wondered why a man was carrying it, but let that thought slide when she found it. She was surprised when she read it, imagining the dress, the land, the setting and the speech so clearly it startled her. She related to the girl in there, the tomboy. A fond smile stretched her lips as she ran a forefinger of the spine of the worn, brown cover.

The keepsake was promptly dropped when an echoing roar of some behemoth sliced through the other sounds of the jungle. Turning her head towards the sound in recognition, she wondered if, perhaps, she wasn't as safe as she thought she was. Lips set in a thin line, she dragged her kill more firmly into her now wrecked abode, wound up the spinning ladder, and slipped her hand around the ragged edge of her bone short sword. Giving one last glance to her home to make sure everything was secure, she hummed her approval and leapt from the landing to the greenery below.

As the monster let out another furious, angry roar, her left eye gave a slight twitch. She had a feeling she knew this particular behemoth, and if it didn't shut up soon, then she was going to paralyze it herself.


End file.
